In Sickness and in Health
by PoisonAngelTears
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is a man of sharp words and calculated actions...so what will happen when he wakes up from a deep slumber to find the note the good Doctor Watson left behind? After all, Sherlock, I did always tell you that one day you would end up in a near coma.In which John is a bit cross with Sherlock, and yet his love is still strong. Rated T for implied relations


Disclaimer: PAT does NOT own any of the characters, places, events, or ideas of BBC Sherlock, they belong solely to the creators.  
Dedicated To: A Very good friend of mine who got me into BBC Sherlock and I promised to dedicate my first ever JohnLock piece to her. :) Hope you all enjoy the fruits of my labors.

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Sherlock Holmes, a most famous consulting detective, was sick. It wasn't as if he was loath to admit to his illness, as being ill is part of the human life. It was more than petty pride, it was the _reasons_ as to _why_ he was ill that he was embarrassed of. Sherlock had been quite busy, lately, nothing unusual, of course. However, his mind had been stretched by a dull tedium of monotonous cases and (to his vexation) a string of failed experiments. It was only a matter of time before, one night, he had yet to even change into his bed clothes, when his mind dragged Sherlock into a thirteen hour slumber.

Sherlock had finally woken, and was gazing at a note, obviously written in John Watson's handwriting. His brain was not yet at its normal paces, but he had enough power to analyze the way the good Dr. Watson wrote.

The shakiness of his letters implied a deep worry, the deep impressions of the crossed and dotted letters showed a significant amount of anxiety. All in all, it seemed as if the _very _ good doctor had been very concerned by Sherlock's slumber, concerned, but not surprised.

'_After all, Sherlock, I did always tell you that one day you would end up in a near coma.' _

Sherlock chuckled at the cross tone of John's words, he could hear John's voice in his mind as he read the note over and over. Carefully, he folded the note back up and tucked it into his pillow, where it rested with the many other notes John had written for him at various times. Always on printer paper, never with any sort of color, other than blue or black. His handwriting was neat, concise, and very plain, but it was John, and Sherlock admired John's consistency.

"Oh, Sherlock, you're up..."

Sherlock glanced at the doorway as he finished putting on his black, cable knit sweater. He peered curiously at the tray that John held in his hands as he stood, a bit flushed, he seemed...embarrassed.

"Is that for me, John? Soup?"

Sherlock sniffed deeply and was surprised to smell the blend of spices and herbs that let him know it was John's personal recipe for tomato soup. Sherlock was very pleased, as John knew that his tomato soup was the only soup Sherlock could stand to eat.

"Ah, well, yes. I was, um, going to leave it for you. I knew you weren't going to sleep for too much longer and figured you might like to eat when you woke up."

John fidgeted, unsure what to do with himself now that Sherlock was awake. He had been flooded with relief when he saw the man standing up, and his heart fluttered when he caught a glimpse of Sherlock's flat, toned abdomen. Sherlock was no slouch, he did have a nice figure. John shook his head, trying to rid himself of the not so clean thoughts that popped into his mind.  
"W-Well, um, would you like to come down and eat? O-Or I could just...leave it here?"

"No, no! It's quite alright, John, take it to the table, I'll be down in a tick."

John bobbed his head awkwardly, turning and making his way down to the _other_ dining table that had been purchased to eat off of. Sherlock was _strictly_ forbidden from using this table for anything even remotely scientific without John's express permission. It had been one of the first things done when they had gotten into a routine with one another. John couldn't stand not knowing if he was eating something that may have been contaminated with sulfuric acid just by touching the table.

"John, thank you...for the food, and the note."

John's eyes widened, and he was at a loss for words, so he just nodded. He had already eaten so he shakily gestured for Sherlock to seat himself whilst he finished transferring the meal from the tray to the table.  
"Oh, Sherlock, I added a bit of lemon, this time, so I'd like to know what you think of it when you're done."

John spoke almost absently, his hands on autopilot as he served tea and a cup of water, a proper meal. Sherlock breathed deeply when the bowl of soup was placed in front of him, and smiled a bit. He casually took John's hand, and squeezed lightly, holding it for a few seconds longer.

John blushed furiously, but a soft smile sat upon his lips, and he squeezed back, allowing their fingers to intertwine for the briefest of moments, then, he let go, and walked into the living room, where he picked up his laptop, ready to assure all of his followers that Sherlock was, once again, back in top health.

It was a calm, peaceful, even quiet, that night, in 221B.


End file.
